Mystify
by DreamBrother
Summary: Preseries. A day during the brothers' last year in high school from another POV


**Disclaimer:**Numb3rs belongs not to me

**Author's Note:**Just a little one-shot to pass the weekend by. Turns out I got the date to school re-opening wrong, it's the 7th, not the 10th, so back to work…. Darn. This one-shot popped into my head out of nowhere; figured it would be a good exercise in writing from a different POV.

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**Mystify**

Basil leaned back on the bench he was sitting, the wooden table behind him pressing into his body but not causing enough pain for him to shift into a more comfortable position. The sun was shining, and he was at an angle just suitable enough to enjoy all the benefits of the warm rays. After almost two years in Manchester, he could have sworn he would never see the sun again, but L.A… L.A was good. _Really_ good. He could forgive his father for moving the family in the middle of his last year of high school especially since he had seriously begun to consider Alaska, with its perpetual sunlight, a nice alternative place to live.

However, forgiveness or not, there he was, in yet another school in the last year before college. Where teachers were writing glowing recommendations for kids they'd known for years, he was pretty sure the paperwork that resulted from changing schools as many time as he changed his hairstyle had yet to catch up with him here. Hopefully, it would be soon enough for him to apply to colleges at a decent time and stick in one place for those four years while his family jetted off to yet another country. Heck, California might not be so bad a place to be in 1988 after all. CalTech and CalSci were in the neighbourhood, and if he felt extra adventurous to wander beyond Pasadena, there was Berkeley.

For the moment though, Pasadena High School it was. And as it turned out, it wasn't half bad. You couldn't argue with the school that churned out two of the founding members of Van Halen. Not that he'd ever let his fellow class-mates, especially the Metallica T-shirt wearing lot, know that he was a closet metal-head. No, as far as his California Dreamin' peers were concerned, he was a recluse snob who thought himself too good for anyone else's company. A head full of dark, thick locks, an accent which belied his childhood years having been spent in around three continents, along with an attitude which did justice to his royally-derivative name had him where he was now, sitting alone outside at lunchtime, and he was just fine with that.

He had just begun to estimate mentally how many more minutes of the sun he could enjoy before heading back inside for the rest of the day's classes when he sensed a shift in the sounds around him. Teenagers were a talkative bunch, and he had been in enough schools around the world to associate different accents with different topics. It didn't matter which part of the world you were in, the blondes, hair colour coinciding with personality or not, would always follow, and they would all talk in a similar, peculiar way. A good day in school included the condition that the blondes didn't find a place too near him to gossip and chatter.

However, the change in tone around him was one recognizable worldwide, he'd noticed. From the regular talk and laughter that surrounded him, there was now a hush occurring somewhere right in front of his closed eyelids. The people to his left and right had noticed as well and were slowly, but surely, inching their way forth towards the scene of such interest. Even those who thought such minor disturbances below their consideration had diverted their attentions that way, if not their bodies. Basil didn't need to open his eyes to recognize the signs for what they were; a fight was about to break out.

However, it only took one sentence for his interest to be peaked, and for his eyes to open:

"Leave him alone, Steve, that's Eppes' brother," said one voice. If he had to guess, Basil would assume it to that of History-Peter. There was also Chemistry -Peter, and French-Peter (apparently, 1980 was the year every parent wanted a son named Peter…), but this was History class Peter. A good sort, if it came down to it. Didn't know the difference between a civil war and a revolution, maybe, but hey, we all had our failings. And History-Peter was definitely talking to Gym-Steve. That wasn't to say there weren't many Steve's, but this Steve had honour of excelling in no other class save Gym. Gym-Steve, if it must be pointed out, also dated Jimmy Chu-Lucy.

However, it was the Eppes name that had Basil's ears twitching. It wasn't Baseball-Eppes that he was bothered about, but Genius-Eppes. He'd say it again, people here were weird. Basil hadn't been in school long before he'd heard, through one way or another as long as it didn't involve him talking too much, that a thirteen year old was accompanying the rest of the seniors through their last year. A child prodigy, smarter than the whole of the senior math class combined before he'd even started kindergarten. Basil himself was no slouch when it came to math. Being placed in the AP courses meant he didn't have to deal with the dimwits who couldn't find the _x_ angle to save their lives. Math was essentially logic and rationality, and Basil had it in enough abundance to not display himself as an egghead. He might be a loner, but even a loner had his pride.

There was a smattering of people forming a circle about twenty feet in front of him and enough gaps among them for Basil to see the dark, curly head of the tiny Eppes which came as high as midway up Gym-Steve's chest. The kid had yet to hit a growth spurt it seemed, whereas everyone else had probably experienced their last. And as always, age had nothing to do with maturity for it was the 18-yr old who was acting half his age as he taunted the younger boy:

"Little Eppsie thinks he's so smart, huh? Can play around with big numbers but won't share with others?" These words were accompanied by a shove that had the genius kid, who was trying to get past Gym-Steve, stumble and fall.

Now, Basil didn't consider himself a hero in any sense. He wasn't the type to stand up for the little guy, save the world, win medals or anything like that. He liked being alone, and he accorded others the same privilege. But even he had to seriously consider standing up for the kid. By experience, he knew that the chances of anyone else in the crowd intervening was next to nothing. In high school, everybody had their roles to play, and today, the show revolved around the Bully and the Bullied.

As Basil was considering whether to make a move or not, he saw the kid's mouth move, but he did not hear what he had to say. It was true, those who knew kept silent, those who didn't spoke loudest, and it wasn't hard to guess where Gym-Steve and Genius-Eppes fit in. The effect of the kid's words were enough to hint at the content: The kid, who had stood by then, was felled by a mean right hook from Gym-Steve.

Basil, having reached the end of his tether, was just about to push forward and stand when a current ran through the crowd. Turning his head to see if it was the presence of a teacher that had had such effect, he was proved wrong. He barely caught a glimpse of Baseball-Eppes as the dark haired jock moved past him with a speed and grace that one associated with those coming forth to protect their own. In a mimicry of the Red Sea parting, the crowd that had kept their distance to an extent, moved to the sides to let the ticked off older brother through, and barely a few seconds passed before the older Eppes was standing in front of the younger Eppes and facing down Gym-Steve, who didn't have enough brain cells to realise he was in for a wallop or two.

To Eppes' credit, it didn't last very long. A quick double punch had given the other guys, most of them from the baseball team itself which had been practicing on their own in the field near-by, enough time to make their way over and separate the two. Apparently, Athletic-Eppes had been on his way over to practise when he had caught sight of his brother in peril. Basil was relieved. If it came down to it, he was a lover, not a fighter. He could hold his own, no doubt about that, but let's just say if anybody told him he hit like a girl, he wouldn't take offense, especially if all girls could pack a punch like his older sister.

As Gym-Steve headed towards the nurse's office, discouraged from continuing the fight then and there with Eppes by the line of glowering baseball players forming a barrier between him and the brothers, Basil wasn't much able to catch sight of the two. The other kids had begun to disperse, and in the mesh of bodies, Basil's view was limited. He was however, surprised to find that once the older brother had checked that his genius sibling was more or less in one piece, he motioned to his team-mates and made his way towards practise, leaving the younger kid behind.

In the meantime, Basil had reclaimed his earlier laid-back posture, and with the look of one just viewing his immediate surroundings, he noticed that the kid had picked up his school bag, which had fallen on the ground in the midst of the scuffle, and was making his way towards him, or rather, his bench. Making sure to keep his face pointed forwards, he watched from the corner of his eyes as the kid swung his bag onto the table and sat down on the opposite seat and side from Basil. Taking out a notebook, he began to scribble in it, making sure to keep his face hidden as much as possible.

Chewing his lip, Basil debated with himself. Finally, he gave in to the voice of his sister in his head and asked, "Hey, you alright?"

The sudden stop of the pen's motion, along with the elongated pause after, told Basil that his question had surprised the Genius-Eppes. A relatively shaky "I'm fine," from the kid belied his words and Basil was once again left in a position to be preyed upon by his conscience which, disturbingly, sounded too much like his sister for his liking.

"It's a good thing your brother was around, huh?" he commented. Conversation was not his forte.

A huff preceded the reply. "Yeah, I guess it was."

"Too bad he didn't stick around. Looks like you could use some ice for that shiner." Basil finally turned his head to look at the kid and nodded towards the bruise that was slowly forming on the kid's jaw.

"He shouldn't have to. I'm old enough to be a senior in high school, aren't I?" the kid retorted. Basil had to hand it to the little twerp – he had spunk.

"You're smart enough, not old enough. There's a difference." The look the kid shot him had Basil turning his head forward and biting his lower lip to keep a grin from forming.

Deciding to give the kid a break and enough time to get it together, Basil went back to his original position. The sun was shining just as merrily as it had been a few minutes ago, and if the weather report was anything to go by, it would continue to do so.

It was when the first, warning bell had already resounded and everybody was slowly getting up and dragging themselves towards the main building when he heard someone approach the bench. The kid was too immersed in his own work to notice so Basil took it upon himself to make sure the newcomer, who was casting a shadow on him, wasn't Gym-Steve or any of his half-wit friends approaching the thirteen year old for Round 2. A glance told him that it was the jock brother and that was all he needed. However, it was not his fault they decided to talk right there and then. It was only eavesdropping if you went about it covertly. He'd been there first.

"Hey buddy, how you doing?"

"I'm fine," came the mumbled reply, along with an increase in the speed of the pen's scribbling.

"Yeah, I bet. Here, I grabbed some ice. Put it to your jaw before the bruise reaches the size of Texas."

"I could have gone to the nurse-." There was a sharp intake of breath which Basil attributed to ice being placed on a tender spot. He knew the feeling; his sister played dirty when they were kids.

"-Who can put two and two together and before you can say Einstein, would have hauled all three of us into the principal's office. I've got a game to play this weekend; I'd rather not be grounded."

"Mom and Dad wouldn't ground you for protecting me."

"You mean our parents the hippies? I'd rather not take that chance."

There was a shuffle of feet and Basil could tell that the kid had stood up; not that it much mattered height-wise; the kid was still a shrimp, sitting _or_ standing.

"Come on; let's go before we're late for class."

"Thanks for… you know."

"Just don't turn it into a habit."

The brothers had circled around the bench in the meantime and Basil could now see them walking away. The baseball player, with a last ruffle of the kid's hair, sped up a bit and caught up with his friends near the door. The genius, however, slowed his steps and walked into the building as through dreading the experience.

Man, people here were _weird_, Basil thought. First, you have 13 yr-olds in high school. Then, you have a _singer_ being elected mayor of Palm Springs. What's next? The Terminator going to become governor of California?

**Khatum (The End)**

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The singer who got elected was Sonny, from Sonny and Cher. And PHS is an actual school which was attended by the Van Halen two. Now, I'm going to go get me something to eat. See you around (hopefully, school will take some time getting back into rhythm). And if you want, let me know if the last para- connects to the rest of the story, or just comes out of left-field to take you by surprise.


End file.
